


And Just Who The Hell Is James Hathaway Anyway?

by BlameThePlotBunnies



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: But It's Not A Disorder, Clubbing, Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, More A Life Choice, Sexual Language, Slut!James, sort-of split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlameThePlotBunnies/pseuds/BlameThePlotBunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Hathaway? Who's he then?</p><p>Just a little thing, about the James nobody knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Just Who The Hell Is James Hathaway Anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's a thing. There may be more. Take it up with the plot bunnies :)

James Hathaway. If you asked his co-workers what kind of a person he was, they'd have used phrases like 'loner', 'quietly sarcastic' and 'socially awkward'. Unless you asked his boss, and best friend, who would say that his sergeant was quiet and introspective, occasionally secretive, and almost always a smartarse, but an observant and intuitive copper and a loyal friend.

These people he worked with everyday, the man who knew him best of all of them, none of them would recognise him out of work. In his sinfully tight, artfully ripped jeans, with no shirt on and make-up on his face, he looked nothing like the dependable, sharp tongued Sergeant Hathaway persona he wore around them. He liked that. Liked that he could shrug off that person when the day ended. On Saturday night, he made the bold decision to try one of Oxford's many new clubs. Getting in proved easy. He allowed himself a smirk as he stepped over the threshold. If they knew he was a copper... Well, he'd heard a few stories about some of these clubs. He steered clear of the ones he knew were a front out of habit. This one was a mystery.

The strobing lights flashed across his pale skin, his body undulating in the smoke to the rhythm of the music. It was loud and crowded and just how JD liked it. Of course, when he shed the persona, he had to shed the name too. And so JD Hathaway had been born. Through the music, the lights and his dancing, he sensed somebody watching him as though hypnotised. He smirked a little again. It was a regular occurrence when he danced. He worked a turn into his dancing, allowing himself to see the silhouette of the person watching him. Male by the build; not even dancing, just watching him. Perhaps a little better built than normal for these places. He almost laughed, perhaps the bouncer had decided he was worth a go. JD wouldn't have said no, but then JD wouldn't have said no to anyone because JD was a little slut. Lights flashed as the figure stepped closer, his face still lost in shadow. Flattering dark jeans, blue or maybe black. Collared shirt, dark red maybe, or purple, untucked, but smooth and neat. Clothes that only hinted at what was contained within them. He felt a tiny shudder run through him as a hand came to rest on his denim clad hip, not gripping or grabbing, not restricting him, just resting there, as though to feel the way he moved. And so he moved, stomach muscles rippling, wriggling his lithe body closer to this stranger. A firm body under his own hands, perhaps a little soft around the middle. An older man then. Warm skin against his, still unmoving, allowing JD to do all the moving, dancing and wriggling against him as he studied the hazy face, a little below his own. The lights flashed white, once, dark hair; twice, full lips; three times, blue eyes. Something squirmed in the back of his mind, something James Hathaway would know, but he wasn't James Hathaway, so he ignored it in favour of pressing every inch of himself against this body, feeling the other man's want pressing back, leaving him in no doubt where this was going. Rough hands moving suddenly on him, one cupping his arse, hauling him impossibly closer and making him groan; the other curled around the back of his neck in an oddly intimate gesture. A harsh gasp against his cheek, then that familiar northern voice in his ear, the Geordie coming through stronger than he'd ever heard it.

"Oh bonny lad..."

It was at that moment, as a kiss landed on his lips, tongue probing the seam gently, begging for entry, that he realised what his mind had been trying to tell him. He was kissing his boss - kissing James' boss - like _kissing_ kissing him. He figured that should probably bother him but...

 _'Mm. Not bad either...'_   Said a little voice in his head.

That was when he realised he didn't care. He didn't want this kiss to ever end.


End file.
